Break Me, Tease Me
by Her Madjesty
Summary: If it had been anyone else, he would not have accepted this. But this was Spock. This was his friend. This was the most important person Jim Kirk could work to protect.


_A/N Characters not mine, but I sure as hell suffer for them. This piece was a source of stress over the course of the entire day. I'm always stuck between appealing to an audience and writing what I want to write, and trying to write it all well. Please, pretty please, I love constructive criticism. Anything helps._

Thank you so much for reading. Have a lovely day.

Spock does not feel pain in the same ways as the human race, or so Jim Kirk has chosen to believe. That is why, with every blow of his fist against that insanely, stupidly white skin, he does not fear for the safety of his First.

Spock's zygomatic bone may or may not be fractured; Jim, however, can feel the bones of his own eye socket shifting against one another in a way that distinctly _does not work_.

He is in the air, and then back on his feet. His muscles scream, and he relishes the pain, each strain of his shoulders and distortion of his spine sending waves of endorphins down his spine. Spock's chest is heaving; Jim can see it. He can see Spock's blood, and his own, falling in his eyes.

Knuckles crack as they kiss the skin; fingers caress; blood vessels burst beneath the thin epithelial layers of skin. The blood cells, full of iron and other chemical concoctions, race to the surface, desperate to heal what has been hurt, slowly blooming into a deep purple sphere on that inhumanly pale skin.

The warriors skid apart, breathing heavily, desperately, hauling air into their lungs.

There is no logic in this, Jim thinks, as his knees give out beneath him. There never was any logic in this, what the two of them had.

He is blinded by blood and unwilling to move; he has surrendered, and there is nowhere else to go.

There is the soft caress of a hand at his head, and the sweetest pinch just above his shoulder. The world fades to black, and the last thing he sees is all snarling, untamed Vulcan fury.

XXX

'_Jim'_. The voice is reverent, dancing right above his ear. His eyes nearly refuse to cooperate, but once they open, they remain open, fixated on the man standing above him. Spock's face is a mask, unfeeling, but Jim can feel the shame pulsing off of him in waves.

His back hurts; Spock tells him various muscles were pulled and strained. His shoulder blade, broken. His eye socket, not shattered so much as shifted. The bones surrounding, damaged.

Everything aches.

"Spock." His voice sounds far too broken to be his own, something between the wind and a whistle. He shifts up, hisses. Spock's hands are on his shoulders, pushing him gently back onto the bed.

"Do not strain yourself, Captain." His voice has returned to static, no emotion. "Your recovery will be hindered greatly if you make any attempt to—"

"Spock. Shut up." The words are not as gentle as they could be, but there is a smile on Jim's face that makes Spock's muscles relax, if only a little. "What happened?"

"The Klingon outpost was more intricately guarded than we were initially informed." He responded. "Starfleet now wishes to 'utilize' the base in order to gather information about the warriors living there and the chemical formulas they utilized in creating the gases." Spock's face remains serene, though Jim suspects there is an underlying tone of disgust in the quirk of his brow.

"Doctor McCoy has placed us both on leave, in order to recover from our injuries." Spock continued, not moving his gaze from his Captain's face.

"Excellent report, Spock, but not quite what I meant." Kirk tried to chuckle, eventually settling for a short huff that became a cough. "I'm more concerned about what happened to _you._"

Silence fills Sick Bay, and Jim wiggles under its weight.

It had taken many months for him to become accustom to naming the emotions Spock subtly allows through his thick, Vulcan skin. Now, looking up with his piercing blue gaze, Jim saw the pain slowly bleeding through Spock's emotionless face. There was anguish written in the clench of his fists, and apology the bruises around his eyes.

"It wasn't like we knew that we were walking into an explosive chemical centrifuge." Jim said, after a moment. He settled back into the bed, wincing as his back complained loudly.

"Not so much a centrifuge, Captain." Spock replied, rapidly moving closer, as though to protect his captain from himself. "It was an amassing of products from chemical reactions that altered neurotransmitter release in the brain, which resulted in excessive and uncontrollable violent reactions."

"Still funny how it just affected you." Jim grumbled. Spock looked at him severely. "'Funny' is not the term I would use, Captain." He said softly. "I have done you serious bodily harm, which violates a multitude of protocols—"

"That you and I both know I'll overlook." Kirk said flippantly. He rolled his eyes and sank deeper into his cot. "It doesn't matter, Spock." He said, looking unusually amused. "I still love you, even when you beat me."

A bright green flush settled in the tips of Spock's ears, and he refused to make eye contact with the human as he turned to leave. Jim grinned, bright and big, and despite everything, Spock allowed himself a small, unseen smile.

"I love you as well, Jim." He said, matter of factly. "Now, get some sleep."

He departed Sick Bay radiating smugness, leaving a flustered, gapping Jim Kirk in his wake.


End file.
